


before you came into my life i missed you so bad

by Horsantula



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Reality Decree, Dallas Steaks (Blaseball Team), M/M, Seasons 4-6, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horsantula/pseuds/Horsantula
Summary: Election Day seldom brings good tidings, as the Steaks haven't won a single blessing since Season 1. But when the Alternate Reality decree passes in Season 4, Conner Haley finds he has a connection - or something more - with this Sebastian Telephone.
Relationships: Conner Haley/Sebastian Telephone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	before you came into my life i missed you so bad

**Author's Note:**

> _In relationships, Greenlemon is happily asexual and aromantic themself, but is always happy to see romance bloom between others. In fact, because of Greenlemon's natural tendencies to notice good qualities in others and bring them up in compliments, there have been many moments that started as ordinary conversations but transformed into dates after Greenlemon passed by and helped the new couple see each other in fresh lights. It was a long-standing joke among Greenlemon's younger siblings that it was good luck to invite them to third-wheel one of your dates without them realizing it, and in time the other Steaks have discovered this to be true as well. Therefore the happily single Greenlemon nevertheless ends up eating many fancy dinners and candies during the Valentine holiday season._  
>    
> \- "Kline Greenlemon", Blaseball Wiki

Election day cookout is over. Though the picnic tables flanking one side of the George Foreman Stadium have been cleared of all plates, cups, and assorted crumbs, the smell of grilled meats and vegetables lingers in the air. As the hour hand of the great clock atop the scoreboard ticks closer to two, the atmosphere has gone from festive to somber. All of the fans, friends, and relatives of the Steaks have started to trickle away, leaving only the players themselves to await the inevitable. 

Conner Haley turns off the music. In its absence all he can hear is the distant wind, rustling the trees outside the stadium, and the crackling of flames off Coach’s arms. He looks around at his teammates’ faces, some resolute, some apprehensive. Leach and Herman, quietly talking to each other. Ronan, leaning on her glolf club, staring over the putting green behind second base and watching a breeze ruffle the flagstick. Cory and Sam chatting with their newest team member, Kline Greenlemon, who replaced Langley last season. And a burst of static disturbance in the air makes Conner aware that Sebastian Telephone is sitting next to him. 

The Steaks have only won one blessing in the past three seasons: the maximizing of hitter Jessica Telephone, followed by her immediate trading to the Pies. They received August in return, who was glad to be traded to a team closer to her hometown of El Paso and made fast friends with Conner due to their shared love of cooking. But Conner knows Sebastian was the one perhaps most affected by that blessing. After being separated from his sister, he’d become even more incorporeal, prone to glitching out of view or having the bat slide through his hands when he tried to pick it up. When Conner tried to check in with him, he’d only say he was fine. 

Conner turns to Sebastian. If he squints, he can see a faint outline in the air, can tell that Sebastian’s perched on the edge of the bench, slightly hunched. He’s emanating a faint static hum that Conner realizes usually happens when he’s nervous.

“You okay?”

The static resolves into words. “I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

With two minutes to go, Conner stands up from his spot on the bench. Everyone’s eyes look his way. He takes a deep breath. He feels like he should say a little something.

“No matter, um, what happens, I’m honored to have been your team captain. I’m so proud of y’all, and I always will be.”

“Here’s to next season,” August pipes up. “Let’s get even further in the playoffs!”

There’s a chorus of agreement from all of the other Steaks. Then all conversation falls away as the last remaining seconds tick by. Conner takes a deep breath. _Whatever it is,_ he thinks, _we’ll get through it._

The minute hand on the stadium clock passes twelve. The results are imminent. For a second, a suspenseful silence hangs in the air. Then, beside Conner, a shift in the air. The static stops. 

A picnic table over, Herman screams, “LEACH!”

Appearing instantaneously, as if he’d always been there, a figure materializes where Sebastian just was. They slump forward and topple off the bench. Reflexively, before he can even think, Conner reaches out and catches them before they hit the ground. He looks down at their face. 

It’s Sebastian. But not the Sebastian he knew. This Sebastian is corporeal, solid. Conner can see his hair, tousled and brown and soft against his hand, the arrangement of teal telephone buttons on his cheek, and his three eyes that blink frantically and come to rest on Conner’s face. 

“Conner?” he whispers in a voice that’s free of static. “Is that you?”

Conner can’t think of anything to say before Sebastian’s eyes flutter shut, and he passes out in his arms. He looks up to see half of the team crowded around him and half around Herman. 

“What just happened?” he asks. 

In response, Sam flicks on the nearby television. The first two words Conner hears are all he needs to know.

_Alternate Reality._

* * *

Conner carries Sebastian up to the players’ lounge, where he wakes up fifteen minutes later. He tries not to stare as Sebastian slowly pushes himself up to a sitting position on the couch and looks around at his agape teammates.

“Well, um, hi,” Sebastian says. “How are y’all?”

Conner exchanges a glance with August, who is leaning against the wall. She goes into the adjacent kitchen and returns with a glass of water, which she hands to Sebastian.

“Welcome to the team, Sebastian,” August says. “We’re all here for ya, okay? Let us know if there’s anythin’ ya need.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sebastian says. “I will. Um, speaking of things I need, has anyone seen my phonebat?”

“Phonebat?” Sam asks. 

“Yes, I got it at the end of Season 1.” Sebastian frowns. “I hope it didn’t get left behind.”

At that moment, everyone hears a faint ringing from the direction of the locker room - Conner is the one who pursues it, tracing it to the equipment closet. Leaning against the bat rack is a closed flip phone, so large that he needs two hands to carry it. He brings it back to the lounge, where Sebastian takes it eagerly.

“You found it! Thank you...Conner, right?”

Conner nods. 

“Okay, good. You and the Conner I knew look pretty much the same. Except he usually wore a beanie instead of a blaseball cap.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think I own a beanie.”

“That’s okay. Blaseball caps are fine too.” Sebastian opens the flip phone and sighs in relief when its screen lights up. “If y’all don’t mind, I’m going to call Jess now.”

“Go right ahead,” August says. 

Sebastian types in a number and holds the phone to his ear. He sits silently for a moment, before saying, “Hi, Jess!”

_“Hi, who is this?”_

A momentary look of confusion. “It’s me, Sebastian. Your brother?”

_“Sorry, my name’s not Jess...You must have the wrong number.”_

“Oh, okay, sorry about that-” Sebastian hangs up. “Um. Does anyone have Jess’s number?”

“I do,” Conner says, passing Sebastian his own phone, open to Jessica’s contact page.

“Thanks,” Sebastian says, handing Conner’s phone back, and this time it works - Jess picks up on the third ring. 

_“Hello? Jessica Telephone here.”_

“Jess, it’s Sebastian. Um, but not the one you know-”

Conner shuffles out of the lounge to give him some privacy. The rest of the Steaks follow his lead. In the hallway, he turns to August.

“What happened to Herman and Leach? Are they okay?”

“From what I can tell, Herman’s the same, but Leach got swapped with another one.”

“Oh no,” Conner says. “I can’t imagine just...being separated like that…”

“Yeah.” August shakes her head. “It’ll be hard, helpin’ both Leach and Sebastian get used to this reality. But we’ll do our best.”

“We have to,” Conner says. He peeks around the doorframe to see Sebastian talking animatedly to his sister, a sad smile on his face.

* * *

This Sebastian is most different from the other one not because he’s corporeal, but in that he might be one of the most outgoing people Conner’s ever met. At preseason practices, he’s willing to talk about his home reality, which turns out not to have been too different from the one he’s currently in now. Americanos are his favorite coffee, but he always comes in the locker room fresh-faced, like he doesn’t even need them to start off the day. When the season starts, he cheers enthusiastically for the team, and it takes Conner a little while to get accustomed to hearing it, after the other Sebastian rarely spoke.

The only time Conner hears his voice falter is when he talks about his sister. According to Sebastian, she was the less stable one, prone to flickering in and out of view when he wasn’t near to anchor her. The two of them are in the dugout after a home game, cleaning up all the discarded paper cups and peanut shells, and he says, “Well, maybe she and my counterpart can find each other. Maybe they’re talking right now.”

“I hope so,” Conner says. “Have you been talking to the Jess here?”

Sebastian shakes his head, throws a handful of peanut shells in the trash. “Just the one time, and a few texts after that. Honestly, I didn’t expect her to be so famous, or busy. But I get it. She has a lot to deal with.”

“Ah...I’m sorry,” Conner says. “Um...do you want me to talk to her about it?”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks for offering, though.” Sebastian smiles. “And thanks for being so welcoming. You, and the rest of the team, have done a great job of making me feel at home.”

“Oh, uh, don’t mention it,” Conner says, scratching his head. 

“I mean it,” Sebastian says, and Conner doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but that smile sends a thrill through his chest that he doesn’t really understand yet.

* * *

Season 5 ends with another loss in the first round of the playoffs. For the fifth season in a row. With the Lovers up two games to one, Conner went in knowing he had to pitch a good game to keep their playoff dreams alive. It just didn’t end up that way. 

Conner would rather be nearly anywhere else, but he stays for the cookout afterwards. Not even the Grill Master’s banter can cheer him up. So he sits at a picnic table facing towards the diamond and slowly ingests a steak, cutting through it with perhaps more force than necessary. It’s not until he feels a presence at his side that he looks up. 

Sebastian’s standing there, holding a plate stacked high with food. “Mind if I sit here?”

Conner grunts in response.

“Okay. Just thought you looked like you needed some cheering up.” Sebastian sits and starts digging into his stack of ribs. 

Conner takes another bite of steak. 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you did a good job today,” Sebastian says. “Even though we lost.”

“...Thanks.”

“Besides, it doesn’t even matter how good you are at blaseball. You’re a good friend, and you can smoke a mean brisket, and that’s what’s important.”

There’s a protracted silence during which Sebastian gnaws his way through an entire corn cob before Conner repeats, “Thanks.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Sebastian pauses. “You wanna talk about meat or something?”

Conner manages a wan smile. “S’okay, Seb. Thanks for asking, though.”

The silence is comfortable after that, and Conner finishes his steak and is in the middle of drinking a glass of water before realizing the nickname he gave Sebastian. He chokes on it and splutters for a long moment before recovering. 

“You good?” Sebastian asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Conner says, and he realizes he does feel a little better after all. 

* * *

When Season 6 starts, Conner feels like a whole new person. Thanks to a chance encounter with a comet, he’s now a lineup player, wielding a bat like he always wanted to. No longer does he have to wait around for his turn in the rotation.

In his first game, he hits a solo home run in the bottom of the seventh inning, and the stadium erupts with cheers. He skids to a stop at home plate and feels a shock of exhilaration. _So this is what blaseball is supposed to be like._

“Hey! That was amazing!” Sebastian offers him an enthusiastic high five as they pass each other at the dugout entrance. 

“Go get ‘em, Seb,” Conner responds.

For the first time, he doesn’t dread the next game; rather, he is eager for it. He shows up early at the stadium and fixes everyone coffee, adrenaline already pumping. The team files out onto the diamond, studded with dew and surrounded with cool morning air.

The Moist Talkers go toe-to-toe with the Steaks, tying up the score at 4-4 during the ninth inning. In the bottom of the eleventh inning, Conner steps, poised, up to bat, and hits the ball deep into the outfield. He hears the crowd roar as he sprints past first and second base, and then dives for third, reaching it with the very tips of his fingers. He stands up, dusting himself off, and watches as Sebastian steps up to the plate next. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he wields his phonebat, which is displaying the Steaks’ logo on the screen. He hits the ball with a _crack,_ launching it far and high, and Conner tears his eyes off of him to go sprinting towards home. When his foot makes contact with home plate the Steaks’ stands erupt in a chant of “SHAME!” and Conner blushes and grins. 

August Sky hits a single to bring Sebastian home, increasing the Steaks’ lead even more, and Sebastian bounds into the dugout and sits down next to Conner. 

“Comet!” he grins. “That was awesome!”

“I, um, thanks,” Conner says. “‘Comet’...that’s new.”

“Oh, well, I just thought it would be a good nickname for you,” Sebastian says. “Do you mind it?”

“Not at all,” Conner says. 

The Steaks have won decisively over the Talkers, 8-4. Conner follows Sebastian out of the dugout, up to the locker room. Sebastian carefully cleans off the screen of his phonebat with a cloth and Conner busies himself with replacing the grip tape on his bat.

“Hey,” Sebastian says. “Just so you know...I’m super glad you and August switched places. You seem so much happier, and seeing you bat before me inspires me to do the best I can.”

“Oh, uh, thanks, Seb. You did a bang-up job out there yourself.”

“Thanks, Comet.” 

Conner sets his taped bat down in his cubby and turns to Sebastian. He’s still focused on wiping down his phone screen, half covered in dirt from the infield and half spotless. His brown hair is a little rumpled from his blaseball cap, three eyes intent on the screen, and the corner of his mouth slightly upturned. 

That’s when a jolt goes through Conner’s chest, like he just realized he forgot about a prime cut of meat left on the grill.

Suddenly he knows. He knows why he’s memorized Sebastian’s coffee style and preferred cookout plate. He knows, when Sebastian steps up to bat, why he cheers so loudly for him that his voice goes hoarse. He knows why, when Call Me Maybe came on the radio this morning while driving to the stadium, Sebastian was the first person he thought about. The revelation makes his head spin.

Phone screen clean, Sebastian closes it and tucks it under his arm. “Comet, wanna go down to the cookout?”

Conner swallows hard, finding his mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. Let’s go, Seb.”

He can barely eat, simultaneously wanting to steal glances at Sebastian, yet finding that he can’t quite meet his eyes, like he’s staring into the sun. He wonders if Sebastian can tell. 

* * *

Season 6 trickles by. Conner gets used to batting, starting the Steaks’ lineup off strong. He and Sebastian think up a special handshake-high-five-fistbump which they exchange every time they pass each other. And every time he hits a dinger, which is not infrequent by any means, he hears a raucous chant of “COMET!” from the dugout.

One day, after practice, Conner takes some time to go down to the cookout area next to the diamond and do his yearly maintenance. He’s halfway through staining the first picnic table of many when he hears footsteps behind him. August, with Kline in tow, calls, “Hey, Conner! Need some help?”

“That would be great, thanks,” Conner says, wiping his forehead with his shirt collar. “I wanted to get these tables stained early this season, so I don’t forget to do ‘em before the playoffs.”

“Good idea,” August says. She and Conner work together to turn one of the tables over. Kline upends one all on their own. 

Though winter doesn’t get too frigid in Dallas, Conner is glad spring is on its way. The sunlight grows stronger every day and he can take off his warmup jacket earlier each practice, and when he goes to the grocery store, an entire aisle is stocked with sweets and decorated in bright pink. The three of them work in silence for a bit, Kline whistling a jaunty tune and Conner thinking about what he’s going to cook for dinner. Or he could order out, go check out that food truck August recommended him a few weeks ago…

“Nice to see you hittin’, by the way, Conner,” August says. “Suits ya.”

“Thank you,” Conner says. “How d’you like pitching?”

August shrugs. “Well, it’s definitely an adjustment. But, it was a good choice for the team as a whole, an’ I’m willin’ to learn!”

“Knew you’d rise to the challenge.”

“Yeah! And it’s good to see you thrivin’.” August finishes staining one of the tables and carries the can of stain to the next table. “By the way, it’s real fun watching you and Sebastian go right after each other in the batting order - you make a great pair.”

Conner stiffens and drops his brush.

August notices the stricken expression on his face. She says, “Oh no, Conner, I didn’t mean it that way…”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Conner says just loud enough for her to hear.

Her eyes grow wide as saucers. “Ohhhh.” 

Conner feels his face grow warm, and his ears burn. For a few moments no one speaks.

“...You’ve been sittin’ on this for a while, huh,” August says finally.

“Yeah. I...just don’t know what to do.” _Isn’t this friendship enough? What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I take a chance and ruin everything?_

August nods. “You want some help?”

“I...sure. That would be nice.”

August looks over at Kline, who is blissfully working their way through a table in record time, and calls, “Hey, Kline!”

Kline looks up, sets their paintbrush down, and says, “Yeah?”

“You wanna help this guy” - she prods Conner in the arm with the handle of her brush - “get together with the love of his life?”

“Of course - who is it?” Their eyes bore into Conner’s face. Conner grunts, imagining how Kline’s opponents must feel facing down their stare before a game.

“Sebastian,” August says in a stage whisper. 

“Awww!” Kline drops the stare, and their face resolves back into their usual grin. “Yeah, I don’t really understand why or how, but hey, my family says I have a knack for getting people together. I can tag along on one of your dates if you’ll have me.”

“If you think it’s a good idea,” Conner says. “I’ll invite you and Seb out for dinner this weekend.”

August says, “I expect updates!” 

That night, Conner spends about twenty minutes lying on the couch, trying to compose a text that sounds enthusiastic but not _overly_ so. He settles on, _Hey Seb! Me and Kline are going to grab dinner at the stadium steakhouse this weekend, do you want to come along too? I can pick you up if you like._

He sets his phone facedown and forces himself not to look at it while he cooks dinner, though his eyes keep straying towards it. He inhales his dinner in all of ten minutes, and when he picks up the phone again, he has a response.

_Sounds good! Just tell me when!_

* * *

At seven PM sharp on Sunday, Conner pulls up to Sebastian’s home in his Honda Ridgeline. Sebastian’s front door opens as soon as the truck stops, and he waves, races down the front walkway and climbs into the passenger seat. Kline is already sitting in the back, the seatbelt covering half of their face.

“All right! Let’s get this show on the road!” Sebastian cheers. 

“Have you ever been to this steakhouse?” Conner asks.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Never, not even in my home reality.” 

“Same - I think I went once in Season 1 just to see what it was like, but I usually like to grill my steaks myself.”

“Well, yeah, you could definitely out-grill any restaurant. Why eat out if you can do better?”

“Aw, shucks,” Conner says. “Well, this is a special occasion.”

“Sure is!”

It’s a little strange pulling up to the stadium after sundown in the general parking lot instead of the players’ lot, wearing relatively fancy clothes - Conner agonized over what to wear for nearly half an hour before settling on a nice pair of dark jeans and a colorful flannel button-down. Usually he just shows up in sweatpants and whatever Steaks T-shirt he can find, since he’s going to change into his uniform soon enough. But the George Foreman stadium feels like a completely different place as they go in through the main entrance and into the second-best steakhouse in the Dallas-Fort Worth region. It’s adorned with white tablecloths, a single rose on each table, and ornately framed photographs of every Steaks player along the walls. 

The table at which Conner, Sebastian, and Kline sit is such that Conner is facing the portrait of Sebastian on the wall, mid-swing. It’s a bit surreal to see the expression of concentration on his frozen face as the real Sebastian, right in front of him, looks over the menu and sips his glass of water. If he turns, he can see his own portrait across the room, but they haven’t updated it yet and it still shows him on the pitching mound. So he doesn’t look at it.

The three of them order a veritable feast - steaks all around, with an array of appetizers and sides. Some soft jazz is playing from the speakers above, and more guests start to file into the restaurant, increasing the ambient noise with their conversation. Conner’s mouth keeps drying out whenever he thinks about saying something, so he keeps drinking water. 

“Hey, I don’t ever think I’ve seen you dressed up!” Kline says. “You look good, Conner!”

“You have,” Conner protests. “There was that one gala post-Season 1, remember? I wore _slacks._ ”

Kline’s eyes light up. “I do remember! You even broke out the dad dance moves. How could I forget that?”

Conner grimaces. “I was coerced into it. We played a game of Truth or Dare on the bus that got out of hand.”

“Comet, you _dance?_ ” Sebastian guffaws. “Why haven’t I seen you dance at the cookouts?”

“Okay, maybe at the end of this season, if we make it to the playoffs. But, I’m warning you, your eyes _will_ bleed.”

“A risk I’m willing to take.” Sebastian shrugs. “To be fair, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the other Conner dance either.” 

“Well, good to know things are consistent.”

“That reminds me, though!” Kline says. “Another Season 1 memory. Did Conner tell you about the time we went to the grocery store together?”

“No, but I’m intrigued.”

“Okay, so.” Kline clears their throat. “There was one specific cookout, to celebrate a big win I think, and Conner and I realized we were underprepared, so we had to make a grocery store run. Conner went off to the butcher counter while I went to the produce area. I think I drifted off - it had been a long day. When I woke up I was inside a plastic bag with a bunch of green lemons.”

“No!” Sebastian gasps. “Someone kidnapped you?”

“Someone thought I was produce, I guess,” Kline says. “But Conner stopped every single cart and looked through until he found me. He was _furious_ at the person who’d picked me up _._ I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“Well, what else would I have done? I’m not just going to abandon my teammates.”

“No, you did amazing. I remember you yelling, ‘MY FRIEND’S IN THERE! LET THEM GO!’”

“Wow, Comet,” Sebastian says. “I’m impressed.”

“Really, it was just what I had to do!”

They keep swapping stories - Kline talks about the time they lifted Conner up in the locker room to mass surprise and confusion, and Sebastian talks about the time he slept weirdly and accidentally called Plizza Hut through the phone buttons on his face. All three of them are laughing by the time the food arrives. 

Though Conner knows he maybe could do better, he has to admit the steak is pretty good, and so are the sides - the potato gratin is cheesy and crisp on the top, and the green beans are fresh. Sebastian and Kline also dig in with gusto. 

“This is a lot different than a cookout,” Sebastian whispers. “I have to actually cut the food instead of picking it up and going to town.”

Conner chuckles. 

“Remember that time some random fan showed up to a cookout and challenged you to a grill-off?” Sebastian continues. 

“Oh yeah,” Conner remembers. “I did show them.”

“I think it was one of my first cookouts after getting alternated. You looked so focused, I was actually a little intimidated.”

“Well, if you think you can grill better than me, you should back it up through your actions, not trash talk,” Conner grumbles. “I just let my steak do the talking.”

“Valid. But, I know now that you’re a sweetheart, so now it’s funny to look back on.”

Conner chokes on a green bean. Kline slaps him on the back. 

“Guh...thanks, Kline,” he sputters. 

“Chew your food thoroughly,” Kline suggests.

“That’s the goal.”

Eventually, all their plates are clean and removed from the table. A server comes, scrapes the crumbs off of the tablecloth, and asks if they’re ready for the bill. 

“I’ll get it,” Conner and Sebastian say at the same time. They lock eyes.

“Let me,” Sebastian says. “I have a player discount.”

“I also have a player discount.”

“Oh, right. Uh.”

Conner’s right hand inches closer to the proffered bill. Sebastian grabs it and presses it to the table. He snatches the bill with the other hand, a look of triumph on his face.

“Hey!” Conner protests, disoriented by the feeling of Sebastian’s hand on his. He sees Kline, giddily enjoying the proceedings, out of the corner of his eye. “Fine. Then I’ll get us dessert. I had somewhere in mind anyway.”

“Fine with me,” Sebastian says. 

The three of them shuffle back to the truck, and five minutes later, Conner parks in front of an ice cream shop. Inside, even the air smells sweet, and Conner’s eye is drawn to the tubs of cookie crumbles, chocolate chips, and sprinkles lining the countertop. The shop is decorated for the holiday, with shiny heart garlands draped over the windows and tables. 

“Well, against all odds, I do have some room left for dessert,” Sebastian says. He orders a sundae with chocolate and cherry ice cream, cookie crumbles, fresh cherries, and whipped cream. It’s nearly twice the height of the cup it comes in. Conner orders dark chocolate ice cream with caramel sauce in a waffle cone, and Kline orders a birthday cake sundae with vanilla ice cream, cake crumbs, and sprinkles. 

They shuffle outside to eat at one of the outdoor tables, where the cool air keeps the ice cream from melting. It’s the perfect ending to the meal. 

Sebastian looks closer. “Comet, are you _biting_ your ice cream?”

“What? Yeah. Is that weird?”

“Don’t your teeth freeze?”

Conner shrugs. “No.”

“Wow.” Sebastian shakes his head. “Learn something new every day.”

Conner finishes his ice cream cone as the others are still working on their sundaes. Across the patio, he sees a few kids sitting at one of the tables, staring directly at him. He averts his eyes, quickly, but not before realizing they’re wearing Dallas Steaks blaseball caps. They whisper to each other for a quick moment, and then scamper over. 

“Conner! It _is_ you! Can we have your autograph?”

“Um, yeah, of course,” Conner says, ignoring Sebastian’s and Kline’s amused expressions. “I don’t have a pen, though, I’m sorry.”

One of the kids whips out a Sharpie. “Sign my forehead, please!”

“How - how about I sign your cap instead?”

“That works, I guess.” 

Conner takes both of the kids’ caps and signs on the brim. 

“Hit some dingers for me, Conner!” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

The now-autographed fans realize that Conner has company. One of them gapes, “Oh my gosh! Sebastian Telephone! Can I use your phonebat?” 

“Uh…” Sebastian says. 

“Kline, if you eat lemon sorbet, is it cann-”

“Honestly, I have no idea,” Kline replies. 

“Oh.” The kids deflate. “Aww.”

“I can sign your caps, though.”

“Yeah!!” The caps are passed around, and soon each of them have three signatures. “Thank you! Good luck in the playoffs, don’t lose in the first round this time!”

The fans run off, clutching their caps tight, and Conner, Sebastian, and Kline start chuckling despite themselves. 

“No one’s ever recognized me before,”’ Conner says, bashful.

“It’s about time,” Sebastian says. “Everyone should know of Conner Haley’s grilling and blaseball prowess.”

Conner laughs. “Maybe more people should know of Sebastian Telephone.”

Kline’s cell phone rings, and they rummage in their pocket. “Sorry, I should take this. Hello?”

“Kline! It’s me!” a muffled voice comes through.

“Oh, hey, Stein. What’s up?”

“You told me to call you around 9, right? Give you an excuse to leave?”

“Stein! Not so loud!” Kline says through gritted teeth, taking a few steps away from the table. Conner and Sebastian exchange a glance. “They’re _right here.”_

“Oh! Oops. Anyway, Kline, my math homework is _soooo hard_ and I need you to come help _right now.”_

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

“How’s it going? Are they gonna confe-” Kline hangs up. 

“Sorry. Um, I gotta go,” they say. “I’m going to call an Ubler, so you don’t have to drive me home. But, thank you for the meal and dessert, it was really fun to spend time with you two!”

“Aww, you’re welcome, Kline. We should hang out more!” Sebastian says. 

“Yeah,” Conner says. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem!” 

Eventually, it’s just Conner and Sebastian standing there, and all the ice cream is gone. Conner clears his throat.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you out too late, but I did have one more thing planned for the evening.”

“I have no plans after this,” Sebastian says. “Except, y’know, practice tomorrow.”

“Oh, good. Me too.”

Conner can feel his hands getting sweaty as the truck makes its way across town, and tries to discreetly wipe them on his jeans. He finds a parking spot and he and Sebastian step into the night air. They’ve arrived at a small park, lined with trees and lit sparingly with string lights hung above. A fountain burbles nearby, and atop a gazebo stage sits a band with keyboard and guitar playing music that drifts over the park like gossamer. 

“I figured we could just, sit around and enjoy,” Conner says. 

“Sounds lovely.”

They find a bench under a tree and sit down. Conner can see the lights reflected in Sebastian’s eyes as he takes in the scene, full of wonder. 

“Nice night tonight,” Conner says.

“Yeah, this is really pretty.”

The moment is here. Just thinking of what he wants to say makes Conner’s throat close up, but he knows the chance will pass him by unless if he acts now. Just like when he waits too long to swing at a fastball and whiffs it. So he turns, looks Sebastian right in the eyes, and says, “Seb, can I tell you something?”

Sebastian blinks. “Yeah?”

“Uh.” Conner swallows hard. “So. I…”

Sebastian waits expectantly. Somehow it’s both the easiest and hardest thing in the world to say those words.

“I...like you.”

“Oh!” Sebastian grins. “I like you too!”

“Uh...like. Romantically.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen. “ _Oh.”_

“Yeah.”

“Well, in that case, I still like you too.”

“Wait, really?”

“To tell the truth, I was going to ask you to dinner tonight anyway. But you beat me to the punch. Heck, I even asked August if you were single.”

“You _did?”_

“She said yes, so I figured I had nothing to lose.”

“Oh. Huh.” Conner feels the adrenaline rush subside, like he’s just scored during a particularly close game.

Sebastian takes his hand, sending a thrill up his arm. “Hey...wanna dance? I mean, not the dad dancing. Like, together.”

“Sure.”

Sebastian pulls him up and onto the patio, closer to the musicians, who are still playing their tranquil melody. He spins around to face Conner and places a hand on his waist. 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever slow danced before,” Conner says.

“Don’t overthink it,” Sebastian whispers. “Just put your hand on my shoulder.”

Conner does. He looks into Sebastian’s eyes, and follows his lead as he starts to sway to the music.

“That’s it. You’re a natural!”

Conner chuckles and blushes, and for those blissful moments, as he floats over the cobblestones in Sebastian’s arms, the rest of the world fades away. He might be stepping on Sebastian’s feet a little, but that’s fine. He’ll have plenty of time to learn. 

**Author's Note:**

> ...And then nothing bad ever happened.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I owe the inspiration for this fic to several sources, which I will list here:
> 
> Black, Matthew, rain. “Blaseball: The Musical”. The Deaths of Sebastian Telephone. edited by BONES. 2020. https://youtu.be/keKpHmwfIMk. 
> 
> Valos (Valos#7533). “I think Conner drives a Honda Ridgeline. Good, durable engine with solid fuel efficiency (by truck standards), a truck bed with a storage compartment, the tailgate that can open either flat or to the side, plus a full size cabin that can hold himself and 4 passengers.” 18 Jan 2021. Discord message.
> 
> @august_mina, @KGreenlemon, and @Conner_Comet on Twitter
> 
> Everyone in the Steakhouse
> 
> Title is from "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen!


End file.
